


Harry Potter and The Philosopher's Plot

by AlbaLayne



Series: The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-Sorted-Slytherin [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Slytherin Harry, Slytherin Politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-03 23:29:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10977633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlbaLayne/pseuds/AlbaLayne
Summary: A Slytherin Harry AU first year. Roughly following the plot of The Philosopher's Stone, Harry is welcomed to Hogwarts, befriends his fellow Slytherins, learns a thing or two, finds himself caught up in evil plots and eventually saves the day because adults apparently have better things to do.





	1. An Introduction to Magic

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first fanfic. I've always liked Slytherin Harry fics and have had a few ideas brewing so I thought I'd give it ago. I do have his first four years roughly planned out but whether or not I go the whole hog will depend on a few things.
> 
> I appreciate constructive feedback. I'm posting the first two chapters and a short interlude chapter to get a feel for posting and AO3. 
> 
> Obviously, the first few chapters are going to be slow plot wise. This first year will roughly follow the Philosopher's Stone Plot, but only very roughly.
> 
> Let me know what you think,  
> Alba.

Magic… was real. Clearly, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had been lying to him. It was the only truth that made sense.

Ten year old Harry Potter sat in a chair outside the headmaster office of St. Gregory’s Primary School in Little Whinging and waited for his relatives to arrive. Dudley, the bully, was currently being coddled in the nurses office and plied with sweets so that he’d stop bothering the school nurse with his incessant complaints.

It was the last day of school before summer let out and everything had been happening along normally. Unfortunately, as was apt to happen in situations that involved Harry, things took an abnormal turn.

Lunch time was quite possibly Harry’s least favourite part of the school day. Where other children looked forward to their lunch break with hope and excitement, Harry sort of wished he lived in Iceland or Norway, where no one would bat an eyelash if he wished to spend his lunch time in the classroom.

Instead, on that bright and sunny day, Mrs Winthrop shoved him out the classroom door with cheery order to get some fresh air and exercise. He wasn’t sure about Mrs Winthrop, but Harry didn’t consider running from Dudley, Piers and their cohort to be exercise. 

“Hey!!! I knew you’d be out here soon! PIERS! Look, it’s Harry! I found him!” Dudley yelled. Harry Hunting was still a popular past time for Harry’s cousin, and whatever made Dudley happy seemed to please most other boys in the school yard as well.

Harry froze. He didn’t really have anywhere to go. The school yard was fenced in, the classroom doors were all shut and ever since that weird creepy man had tried to steal someone’s child from one of the preschooler classes, the place was practically a prison, with lunch duty teachers everywhere. To make matters worse, all the teachers who rotated lunch duty thought it was “precious” that Dudley and his friends included poor orphaned Harry in their imaginative games of ‘tag’.

“GET HIM!” Piers, Dudley and their small gang charged for him.

It was moments like these, not necessarily running for his life, but moments of intense anxiety or frustration that things went… awry.

Harry dared to look behind him while running, only to see Dudley and his gang gaining on him. He supposed he could try and run in an unpredictable kind of pattern around the playground but he’d only be prolonging the inevitable.

Fate, or magic as he’d later come to realise, intervened.

A loud thud sounded, and Dudley started wailing. Stopping, and turning around, Harry saw Dudley lying face first on the ground, a bit of blood running from his mouth and Dudley sort of curled half around himself to clutch at his ankle as he screamed dramatically into the grass.

Chaos ensued. The teachers came running, the children started yelling. Harry blocked out the noise, and in the silence his mind created all he could think about was where that tennis ball sized stone could have come from. He was positive, absolutely positive, he hadn’t seen anything on the ground when he’d looked back to see how close Dudley and his friends were getting. So if it hadn’t been there then, how did it get the in the 5 seconds between him looking back and Dudley then falling over it?

Harry was broken from his thoughts when he heard his name mentioned.

“It’s all Harry’s fault! He threw it at me!” Dudley wailed, loudly and with more theatrics than the situation probably warranted. Harry thought he looked like he might have bitten his lip when he hit the ground, but it was only a drop or two of blood. His ankle, though Harry could admit it might hurt him, it didn’t look swollen or red or bruised or anything like that.

“YEAH!” Brosnan yelled, “He got that, that.. STONE THING out of his pocket and he THREW IT at Dud’s feet, I SAW HIM!”

Harry didn’t know why, it could have just been him, but did all bullies yell and so loudly all the time? Dudley and his gang always seemed to. Then again he doubted that their parents went around screaming at him them to shut up and make no noise, the way his uncle and aunt screamed at him.

“Now, Brosnan, I doubt Harry threw that stone at Dudley” Mr West sighed, he looked ancient and beyond fed up with the youth of children. No child wanted to be in his classroom, all the kids who were left every afternoon looking like someone had beheaded their teddy bear and told them that the Avenger’s weren’t real.

“Yes, I agree Mr West. Now, lets move away children. We have to get Dudley off to the nurse so she can give him a check over. Harry, come with us thank you.” Ms Daly escorted them from the playground and to the nurses office.

Harry may have sat outside but he could certainly hear everything that was happening with the way Dudley carried on. It was decided that Dudley needed to go home, more for the staff’s sanity than his own sake. The nurse said Aunt Petunia should just take them both, as there was no point in her having to come back an hour and half later for Harry. Clearly, the nurse didn’t know that Dudley was always picked up from school, and that Harry always walked home.

Mr Nethersby, the headmaster, came striding down the hall. It became clear once he stared speaking to Harry that either Piers or Brosnan had snitched to the headmaster themselves about their stone theory. Mr Nethersby, having heard all about Harry’s potentially criminal short comings from Aunt Petunia, thought it sounded like exactly the sort of thing Harry would do. 

Aunt Petunia arrived in a harried state, hair a bit of a mess and the fabric of her skirt creasing from daily activity. Her hands kept trying to smooth the creases out as she and Harry sat in Mr Nethersby’s office and he explained the situation to her.

Admittedly, Harry wasn’t listening. He was still stuck on that stone. He knew that he had done a number of odd things that caused the often spat “there is no such thing as magic”. Like the time Aunt Petunia had hacked off his hair only for it to grow back over night, the time he had turned a teachers hair blue and he’d never forget that time he had been running from Dudley during lunch break four years ago. He had closed his eyes while running, not the smartest idea he realises now, and had opened them only to find himself on the school roof. All these memories were flooding back, and they weren’t the only strange happenings. There was that awfully hot summer last year where Harry thought he’d die in his closet it was so hot. One night, twenty two days into the heat wave, it had snowed. Snowed, but only on Privet Drive. 

It had to be magic, Harry though. There wasn’t any other explanation. I mean, really, why else would such odd instances usually end with Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia telling him there was no such thing as magic. Maybe it was just a taboo subject, like Miss Lacey and Miss Walton, the two nice young ladies who had lived on Privet Drive for all of two months before someone smashed all the windows in their house and they had to move? Harry didn’t really understand what the deal was about a girl kissing a girl, but boy did Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia get red in the face and hysterical about it. Kind of like they did about magic, now Harry thought about it.

Magic existed. 

Despite Aunt Petunia’s promises on the drive home to make him regret ever being born, Harry felt at peace.

Magic, He thought as Dudley carried on about possibly needing his leg amputated because of Harry in the front seat, Magic was REAL.

\- - - 

Harry hadn't thought much about magic that summer. As soon as the realisation had made itself present, it was put aside in favour of much more pressing concerns.

“Harry! Fetch the mail and then get back here and fix Vernon his bacon” Aunt Petunia ordered.

Harry had been working day and night all summer, more so than he generally did over a summer break. His birthday had been and gone, unmarked, as always. There was something going on with his Aunt. He wasn’t sure if she herself had noticed it, Uncle Vernon certainly hadn’t, but she was unusually tense and waspish. Well, more so than usual.

Bill… Card from Aunt Marge (cue hair raising shiver here)… a Women’s House Keeping magazine for Aunt Petunia… Bill… 

That’s when he stopped. It was an odd looking letter that was for sure. It was folded paper, but thicker and older looking than that of the other letters. The writing was green and unique, but that wasn’t really what drew Harry’s attention.

It was addressed to him. Who would write him a letter though? He didn’t have any friends, he didn’t know any grownups outside of Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, except crazy Mrs Figg but she usually telephoned about him helping her with something.

“VERNON!” Aunt Petunia screeched. She had snatched his letter and Harry quickly followed her into the dining room.

“Vernon! It’s THAT letter,” she affected an ominous tone of voice, Harry thought she sounded constipated but kept that to himself as he frowned. Did she know who was writing to him? How could she? She knew everyone he knew, and no one either of them knew would write to him.

“BURN IT! Burn it, burn it, burn it! Now, Petunia, before it contaminates the house, or worse yet innocent Dudley! I’ll not have him affected by the NONSENSE your dead bloody sister infected that boy with,” Vernon started shouting, he carried on but Harry had stopped listening to him and started wondering.

His mother had infected him? What on earth were they going on about? Honestly, he could see where Dudley got his propensity for yelling loudly and putting on unnecessary theatrics. The way Uncle Vernon was going on you would think Harry had the plague or something.

The letter was burned forthwith.

Harry was disappointed, he wanted to read it. He had the worst luck, he’d likely never see another let until was eighteen, he reckoned.

The days went by as they normally did. Until Monday two weeks later. Harry got up, made breakfast, fed the Dursley’s, saw Uncle Vernon off to work, helped Aunt Petunia see Dudley off to Brosnan’s house where, for the next week they would both be holidaying with Brosnan’s family in Bristol, and spent the rest of his morning cleaning up.

It was after lunch that the knock on the front door interrupted Aunt Petunia from her very important gossip over the phone with Mrs Hartford, two doors down. Why Aunt Petunia couldn’t physically gossip with her at her house, leaving Harry in peace, he didn’t know.

“Hold on a second, Betty, there’s been a knock at the door,” Aunt Petunia said politely to the phone, she pulled it from her face, holding her other hand over the mouthpiece, and barked, “Harry, THE DOOR!”

As he left the living area, and his dusting behind, he heard Aunt Petunia say into the phone, “I know, we try so hard to set that boy right but there’s only so much my generosity, and patience, can take Betty. You have no idea how awful he can be to us.”

Opening the front door, Harry looked up to find himself looking at an oddly dressed older woman. He was a bit taken back at first, he had expected a door salesman you see or someone asking for donations for a charity drive. He was further stunned into silence when she addressed.

“Hello, Mr Potter, is your Aunt or Uncle at home this afternoon?” She asked, her accent Welsh and stern. She mannerism certainly weren’t jovial either.

Harry said sure, giving her a quizzical look before closing the door on her. Bad form, he knew. Quietly, he went to stand in front of Aunt Petunia and had barely opened his mouth before she said, into the phone,

“Sorry Betty, I’ve got to go. I’ve got an unexpected guest,” she hung up the phone and glared at Harry, “Well?”

“Err, there’s-a-really-strangely-dressed-woman-at-the-door-asking-for-you-and-she-knows-my-name” came out of his mouth in a rush.

Aunt Petunia wasn’t a particularly tan woman, she never really went out of doors unless it was to spy on the neighbours or run errands for Uncle Vernon or Dudley. At hearing his word vomit, she went deathly white.

“What… What, did you say her nn-name was?” She stuttered, looking fearfully int he direction of the front door.

“Um, I forgot to ask her that, sorry” 

Petunia stood, wobbled to the front door. It sounded as though, looking upon such a strange and stern looking woman, that she choked on her own saliva before managing to start yelling.

“Oh, NO you don’t. You are not coming in MY house and you are not speaking to that boy! Leave or or… I’ll call the police or MY HUSBAND!” In most cases Harry thought the threat of Uncle Vernon would, in fact, scare most people off their step and probably out of Little Whinging. This woman was not so easily cowed.

She pushed past Aunt Petunia, strode into the living room and sat herself on the two seater lounge and asked after a cup of tea. Petunia looked ready to have a heart attack and haunt Harry for the rest of his days, none the less she managed to relocate to the kitchen to set about making tea.

Something was clearly going on. Aunt Petunia never made someone tea herself, she always made Harry do it.

The strange woman, who had yet to introduce herself or explain how she knew his name, just smiled grimly and watched the both of them flounder. Once tea was served and Harry and Petunia had sat themselves down on seperate chairs facing their guest, she spoke.

“My name is Minerva McGonagall, I’m a professor at Hogwarts. I’m here to find out why we have yet to receive Mr Potter’s returned acceptance letter. School is to start September 1st as you well know Mrs Dursley,” Professor McGonagall said.

“Hogwarts? What sort of school is that?” Harry asked warily. Aunt Petunia was being uncommonly quiet. She sort of looked liked she’d swallowed the stone that had magically appeared and tripped Dudley on their last day of school.

“What do you mean ‘what sort of school is Hogwarts’, Hogwarts is where your parents went to school Mr Potter,” McGonagall was looking awfully frustrated considering how short and one-sided the conversation had been thus far.

“Err, Uncle Vernon says my mum and dad were no good drunken scumbags who killed themselves in a car crash but not before wasting years of hard earned tax payer dollars in the form of loads of welfare checks and bonus money for having me, and leaving me to the kindness and generosity of my forgiving, hard working and morally superior relatives,” Harry pretty much knew that speech word for word, Uncle Vernon had spat it at him often enough.

Aunt Petunia let out an unseemly giggle, it sounded like some sort of dying animal, and McGonagall choked on her tea, for an instant she seemed far less uptight.

“I knew we should have never left him with you people. I told Albus you were the wrong sort of muggles, but no, he never listens to me,” McGonagall was not making any sense to Harry.

“You’re a wizard, Harry, and Hogwarts is a school of magic where we teach you how to be a wizard. You’re parents were magical, just like you, and they went to Hogwarts too, just like you will be,” McGonagall spoke to him in what he thought she imagined to be a gentle calming voice. It took a few moments for all that to sink in for Harry.

“I knew magic was real,” Harry laughed. In your face Uncle Vernon, he thought.

Aunt Petunia lost it and McGonagall started trying to salvage the conversation. Harry wasn’t really paying attention any more. He knew Aunt Petunia would be losing it over the magic part and that McGonagall appeared to be trying to calm her down while simultaneously selling her on the magic school idea.

Harry was thrilled, magic was real and there were schools where you could learn to do it. He wondered if he would ever learn to pop from place to place by closing his eyes. Maybe he could learn how to turn Dudley into a pig or maybe just magic him into silence, he didn’t know which would be easier. But if magic schools really existed, how come he’d never heard of them? Surely a school that taught magic would be all over the news on the television? 

Fear kicked in. Harry worried if he was good enough, what if he wasn’t as magical as the other children or if they didn’t like him. No one at St. Gregory’s had. The only thing worse than Harry Hunting would be magical Harry Hunting. How was he supposed to pay for all this? The tuition was probably more expensively than the prep school Dudley was going to attend.

Harry was ripped from his train of thought by McGonagall.

“Breathe, Mr Potter, breathe,” She spoke harshly, he hadn’t realised he’d been holding his breath while his mind went into over drive.

And so began a long and uncomfortable conversation about everything Magical and Harry related. Aunt Petunia looked at a complete loss as to what to do while McGonagall steamrollered right over her.

By the end of the professors visit, Harry had a lot of his questions answered. Aunt Petunia had been sold on the idea of him attending Hogwarts and now all that was left was to deal with the elephant currently not in the room.

Uncle Vernon.

\- - - 

As it turned it out, Uncle Vernon was easier to convince than Harry had imagined. Judging by the releaved expression on Aunt Petunia’s face, she had thought the same.

Dudley, at hearing Harry would be going to a school for young offenders in Scotland, didn’t know whether to be pleased he’d rarely see his cousin or disappointed that his first choice of victim would be gone.

It was arranged that a magical parent, whose child would also be attending Hogwarts with Harry that year, would come pick him up to take him and another child living with muggles to get their school supplies. Harry was glad to hear that he wouldn’t be the only one raised amongst non-magical people to attend Hogwarts.

So it was that early one morning two weeks before school was to start, Harry opened his front door to meet Mr Weasley. With him were his son, Ronald, a bushy haired girl named Hermione and her non-magical parents.

Petunia shoved him out the door in his best clothes, and he wasn’t positive but he’s pretty sure he heard her lock the door behind him too.

Mr Weasley was a red-headed man, his son the same, with plenty of freckles and a cheerful, almost obnoxiously so one might say, disposition. His son Ron, kept giving Harry weird looks and making odd faces, opening his mouth as if to speak and shutting it again quickly while flushing red. 

The Grangers, as he learned they were named, were normal and pleasant. Hermione, the girl who’d be going to school with him, was not as pleasant as her parents. She was, as Dudley would say, a know-it-all and she hardly paused for breath while speaking rapidly about everything under the sun.

Harry wasn’t sure about either of his contemporaries. The boy was odd and the girl was noisey, and were they really magical? He wouldn’t have guessed they were. Though he supposed one could think the same of him.

Diagon Alley, the hub where all their school supplies could be purchased, was busy. It was magical though. Filled to the brim with magical people, wearing ridiculous clothing combinations, and a lot of noise but something about it sang and pulsed with other, a sort of magical feeling. It was hard for Harry to describe just what it was that made the cluttered dingy alley so absolutely brilliant.

After a tour and a lot of eager questions from Mr Weasley about muggles, they all made their way to Gringott’s the wizard bank. Mr and Mrs Granger exchanged muggle money for magical money, and Harry learned he had a bank account left by his parents. The Goblins gave him a new key, cancelling the earlier one that had seemed to have been misplaced. Harry, as it turned out, was not a poor orphan. He was actually quite well off. He hoped he had more money than Uncle Vernon any way.

After that was taken care of the group decided to go get books. 

Harry found himself lost in the throng of people milling about the alley and soon found himself at the door of Ollivander’s, the wand maker. It was certainly an experience, find a wand. Mahogany like his fathers, unicorn hair like his mothers, beach like his father’s mother, dragon heartstring like his father’s father and so on it went. It must have been an hour later before the wand maker paused a few moments, thinking. He seemed to light to an idea, went out to a room in the back of his shop and came back with a black wand box.

Opening it, inside was a wand like any other. Or so Harry had believed at the time.

Phoenix feather, eleven inches and made with the whitest of holly tree wood. This was Harry’s wand. He was a bit disappointed to be honest, it didn’t look anything special. You could barely even see those cool grain lines that cut timber had. Ollivander just watched him peculiarly as he flicked it, and gold sparks went off. There was something off about the man’s expression. Harry couldn’t figure it out and so he paid for his wand and left. He had things to do, like buys school robes.

In Madam Malkin’s, Harry was getting fitted for school robes. It was a wicked experience if you asked him, wands were out, objects were whizzing about. This was magic all right. He still hadn’t managed to locate his group but that wasn’t going to stop him from getting everything done.

A bell rang, signalling another customer. Filing into the room were two of the palest, blondest people Harry had ever seen. I mean, they were practically Albino he thought.

The mother was beautiful, even if her nose was a little upturned and her countenance a bit haughty. She certainly looked to be made of money. She was following a boy Harry’s age, just as blonde and, thankfully, just as short as Harry himself. Harry was glad to see he wouldn’t be the shortest boy in his year or the least magical if that Hermione girl was anything to go by.

Upon noting his presence, the pale woman did a double take. Then she smiled, Harry took back everything he had about her upturned nose and haughty presence. This woman was the prettiest mum he’d ever seen.

“Well, looks like you’ll have someone to talk with while you get fitted, Draco darling,” she spoke softly to the boy in front of her. Sparing a glance and her blindingly beautiful smile for Harry before continuing to her son,

“I have to fetch your potions ingredients and quickly settle something with one of the Goblins, but I’ll be back to fetch you, Draco. Don’t wander too far,” and with that parting comment she left her pale son with Harry.

What sort of name was Draco, anyway? Maybe wizards named their children differently, kind of like they dressed differently to non-magical people. Either way, Harry thought it best not to bring it up in case he hurt the boys feelings and alienated himself.

“Err… Hi, I’m Harry.” Harry said feeling stupid. The seamstresses assistant giggled and shared a look with the other seamstress assistant tending to Draco.

“Pleased to meet you,” Draco replied, “I’m Draco, as you probably heard mother say, your first year at Hogwarts too then?”

“Yeah, I’m not sure if I’m more excited or nervous. Half the time I think about it I don’t know whether to laugh myself silly or throw up.” 

Harry had no idea why he said that. Judging by the expression on the other boy’s face, he was equally as confused.

“Yes, well, I suppose it can be nerve-wracking if you aren’t 100% sure which house you’ll end up in” Draco tried to salvage the conversation. He wasn’t quite sure what his mother was up to leaving him alone with this poorly dressed, bespectacled fool. Especially, when she had been blathering on about supervising the making of his school robes to ensure they were the best quality only a half hour before.

“Houses?”

“Yes, the four houses? You aren’t a mud… a muggleborn then, are you?” Draco barely caught himself, he could see the seamstress working on his measurements looking a like she was holding herself back from chiding him. She had obviously heard what he was going to say.

Harry, meanwhile, felt out of his depth again. He hoped he wouldn’t feel this stupid all the time at magic school or it wouldn’t be a lot of fun even if he will be learning magic.

“Professor McGonagall,” Harry started, trying to sound reasonably knowledgable, “explained that my parents were both magical, but that my mothers sister, Aunt Petunia isn’t. When mum and dad died, I went to stay with her, my uncle and my cousin in the non-magical world.”

“Oh, well that’s explains everything.”

It did not explain everything to Draco, not really, but he was bored and needed this conversation to move along. He wondered if Harry was interested in quidditch. Harry did not know about quidditch, and Draco gave up on the boy. He twiddled his thumbs until all his school robes were done, took his packaged clothing and left the shop well before Harry was done. It was a good thing his mother paid extra for things to be done quickly, Draco thought as he left.

Harry was a bit upset with himself. He could have made a friend, the boy Draco had seemed more interesting than Mr Weasley’s son or the girl Hermione. The rest of his time at the robe shop was spent in the silence.

Once he was done, Harry wandered about exploring. There was a magical hair salon next to a sweet shop, Harry had considered going in to get his hair cut out. His fringe was falling into his face. It was getting long and sometimes obstructed his glasses. He ended up just walking by, he didn’t see the point in getting a hair cut and spending money if his hair was going to grow back overnight.

Mr Weasley and Mr Granger eventually found him at the exit of Diagon Alley. As enlightening as the day had been, Harry was exhausted. 

He wasn’t thrilled to be back in Little Whinging, but finding out he had been “gifted” Dudley’s second bedroom was a nice surprise. He spent the rest of his afternoon reading “A Muggles Guide to the Magical World, British Edition”. It certainly clarified a few things for him.

\- - - 

That evening, sitting at the monstrous dining table at Malfoy Manor, Draco was enjoying his dinner.

“So, Draco darling, how did you get along with Harry Potter?” His mother queried. Draco had no idea what she was on about. Harry Potter? If he'd have met Harry Potter he would’ve said something earlier wouldn’t he?

“Potter? Are you sure, Narcissa?” Lucius, Draco’s father, sounded odd. The kind of odd he always sounded like when people spoke about the war. Draco had learned it was not an open topic of conversation in their household.

“I think I would know a Potter when I saw one, Lucius dear. Bespectacled, scrawny and that messy black hair. They always did look alike, the men of Potter lineage,” Narcissa mused. 

“In Madam Malkin’s?” Draco asked, “That wasn’t Harry Potter, mother. I think I would know Harry Potter if I had met him. That idiot wouldn’t know the front end of a chimera if you gave him an instruction leaflet… Harry Potter,” he scoffed.

Narcissa looked at her son. She loved him dearly, more even than she loved her own husband. He was her only child, the light of her life and there was nothing she would not do for him. She had known that child at Madam Malkin’s was Harry Potter the moment she laid eyes on him. It honestly didn’t surprise her that Draco hadn’t noticed, thinking on it now. Bless him, he was a self-centred little boy.

“I had left Draco alone with the boy in the hopes that they could be amiable with one another before starting at Hogwarts, I had envisaged their meeting might lessen the impact of house rivalries when Draco becomes a Slytherin and Potter a Gryffindor,” Narcissa explained to her husband. He did not looked so impressed with the idea.

“Well, it couldn’t have hurt. But house rivalries get the best of most children, so it was pointless in the end I’d say.”

“EXCUSE ME!” Draco interrupted at the top of voice.

“I don’t know what you’re both going on about but that street urchin was NOT Harry Potter. Mordred Mother, don’t you know anything? Harry Potter has a curse scar on his forehead, he has wavy brown locks, he does not wear glasses and he’s apparently an amazing quidditch player or so I’ve heard…”

While her son carried on, Narcissa finished her pheasant and asparagus. Lucius looked pained, he didn’t do idle chit chat at the best of times but she’d explained to him that it was important for Draco developmentally to feel as though his thoughts and feelings were valid and had worth. Of course, sitting here listening to her son carry on about Harry Potter she was beginning to think she might have been bit quick to tell her husband he needed to let Draco join in their conversations at the dinner table.


	2. Welcome to Hogwarts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry finally arrives at Hogwarts, did you know he's famous? Who Knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi All, please note this is currently unbeta'd so all mistakes with spelling and grammar are my own. Also I'm Australian and unfamiliar with british-isms so I'm trying for a neutral english but I may not be successful. Let me know if find any errors and I'll fix them up.

September 1st arrived quickly after his trip to Diagon Alley. Before Harry knew it he was being dropped (more like dumped) by Petunia at Kings Cross Station. He had his ticket for the train to Hogwarts but whenever he went to ask someone how to find Platform 9 3/4 they all laughed at him. Harry concluded it was a magical platform and only magical people could get on it. This was great if you had a magical person to guide to.

Apparently, Professor McGonagall had thought to give him a guide around Diagon Alley but had overlooked the train station platform. 

Sighing, Harry looked around. Part of him hoped to see Mr Weasley, or the lovely blonde who was Draco’s mother. Luck was with him that day. Struggling through the masses of people at the translation that morning was Mr Weasley. With him his entire family, a family much larger than Harry had realised.

With Mr Weasley was Ronald, an older woman who must be Mrs Weasley and four other children. That was a lot of luggage between four school aged wizards, Harry thought. Deciding this was the only way to get into the Platform before the train left Harry made his way over.

Mr Weasley was delighted to see him again, his wife kept trying to hug Harry and the rest of their children looked at him with something akin to awe on their faces. which made absolutely no sense at all.

It turned out the Platform was magical. It appeared, only to muggles, to be nothing back a wall. When magical people ran at it however, they went straight through it to the Platform. The magical platform was just as busy as Kings Cross. People were seeing off their children everyone, and everyone was trying to get onto the train. Ronald’s older twin brothers, Fred and George, helped him get onto the train.

From there Harry tried to loose the Weasley children. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with them per say but he just wasn’t sure about the way they looked at him.

The train lurched into motion and Harry still hadn’t found a compartment. He didn’t want to join an already populated one. It would just be too difficult for someone as lacking in social skills as he was. In the end, Harry ended up staying in a toilet cubicle. He had originally decided to go in so he could change into his robes, as many other students were already wearing theirs. He had ended up staying in there.

It was a long trip to the school, and Harry amused himself by reading a fascinating little book he had picked up in Flourish & Blott’s called “Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them”. It was mazing to learn that so many ‘mythical’ creatures were in fact real. One day Harry hoped to see a real live dragon, no matter how dangerous they might actually be. He figured what good was magic if you couldn’t protect yourself from a dragon?

Eventually, the Hogwarts Express, as the train was known, pulled up at it’s destination. Harry milled out along with the other students, dumped his trunk where the sign said too and made his way to the absolutely giant man calling out for the first years.

The first years were lead to a bunch of rickety boats, that they would take across the Black Lake to the castle. Harry was less than impressed, until he saw the castle from the lake. It was the most magnificent view he’d seen in all his life. He doubted much else could compare.  
Inside the castle looked as old and mystical as it had from the outside. He and his fellow first years were left outside the great hall, the dining hall he learned, to wait to be sorted into one of four houses. He would live the house he went to, be friends with his housemates and the idea of it was odd. She spoke as if being in the same suddenly make everyone best buddies.

They entered hall two by two, amidst a raucous from the already seated students. The headmaster spoke, and pulled out an old hat that was to sort the new students. It spewed out a song, that Harry didn’t really pay attention to. He was a bit distracted by the ceiling, it was magical and looked like a cloudy starry night sky.

Names were called alphabetically by surname and one by one his class mates went up to meet their fate. Harry wasn’t really paying much attention here either, he was distracted by the girl behind him speaking.

“I’m going to Ravenclaw, everyone smart and respectable goes there,” she said.

“No way, only book worms and teacher’s pets go there. I’m going to Gryffindor, because I’m brave and want to go on adventures when I grow up,” a boy replied to her.

“Gryffindor’s are loud, lazy and nowhere near as heroic as their founder,” the girl rebutted.

Harry didn’t like the sound of either of those houses, judging by what the girl and boy were saying. McGonagall called out “GRANGER, Hermione”, and the bushy haired girl nervous made her way to the stool and put on the old hat. In about 10 seconds it yelled out GRYFFINDOR and she went to take a seat at an unbelievably loud table, all its students were shouting and clamouring in honour of their new addition. 

Harry frowned, he really didn’t think he wanted to end up there. McGonagall made her way down the list until “MALFOY, Draco” was called and the pale blonde boy from Madam Malkin’s rose to be sorted. Harry was curious now. He wasn’t sure what he thought of the boy, though he was disappointed Draco hadn’t seemed interested in being his friend. Harry wondered what house he would end up in.

Harry wasn’t sure what it meant when the hat hadn’t even touched his head but screamed “SLYTHERIN”. Did that mean he had strong magical, that he was somehow more magical? Harry was feeling a bit more eager to have this sorting ordeal over and done with.

Lila Moon went to Ravenclaw then Pansy Parkinson to Slytherin as well. Finally, Harry’s name was called. Before he could move a single hair on his head, the hall exploded. Noise erupted from every table, the professors even became more animated. Harry noticed that Draco began looking around, but didn’t see Harry staring at him. Until, Harry realised everyone knew who Harry Potter was for some reason but no one knew HE was Harry Potter.

He went up to the sorting hat quickly, not looking at the reactions of his class mates. He did notice as he said down on the stool that Draco looked kind of queasy while watching him be sorted. 

“Ah, yes. Harry Potter, famous Harry Potter. I’d wondered when I’d be sorting you, yes I did,” The hat seemed to speak to him from within his own mind, “Quiet, aren’t you? Not a boisterous boy at all, that will disappointment some people you know? where was I, yes… not a Gryffindor, sure you can be brave when the situation warrants it but you don’t foolishly go out of your way for bravery… Hmmm, smart but not really the intellectual sort that Ravenclaw favours… you’re far to mellow, and you’d probably hate how competitive and possessive Ravenclaws can be about books… Hufflepuff might work, I can see you know how to work hard and be loyal but… your loyalty is for those deserving of it, yes I can see that plain as day… now, Slytherin might now be a bad fit… you’re not quite as cunning and clever as most children I sort there but you would appreciate the fact they’re a quieter house and you have potential… ooh, and a drive to prove yourself hidden under that curiosity… hmmm, better be…”

“SLYTHERIN” The hat bellowed. Harry was a bit taken back, he was still sorting through all the things the hat had said to him.

Unlike the massive chorus that had greeted every other student, Harry walked to Slytherin house followed by near silence. All he could make out was some hushed whispers from the students.

“Are they sure that’s Harry Potter, he doesn’t look like the drawing in my story book…”

“He can’t be a Slytherin, he’s HARRY POTTER” someone whispered furiously.

“Umm, I think the sorting hat might have finally lost it, Marcus…” a Slytherin muttered to the boy beside him.

Harry took a seat next a girl who’d been sorted who’s name he hadn’t heard, across from Draco. The sorting carried on in the background. The boy looked at him, then raised a white blonde eyebrow.

“You didn’t say you were Harry bloody Potter at Madam Malkin’s,” he hissed at Harry, “My mother told me you were and I spent all dinner that night telling how you couldn’t be. Why do you even look like that?”

Harry, was as confused as ever, he really hoped this wouldn’t be a running theme and said, “I look like what I’ve always looked like, Draco. You never told me your last name at Madam Malkin’s either just so you know.”

Draco frowned and looked him over, clearly not happy with what he saw.

“I’m Daphne Greengrass, Potter. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” the girl beside him held out her hand and introduced herself. She was a pretty girl, nondescript brown hair and brown eyes should have made her look plain but she had energy about her that was lively and spirited. Harry wasn’t sure what to think of Draco Malfoy, but this girl he liked. Daphne chatted with him, stealing his attention from Draco, until the final student was sorted. Daphne stopped chatting to welcome Blaise Zabini to the table. Italian by birth and of African descent, Zabini was sharp witted, and thought it endlessly amusing that people had lost it when ‘the Great Harry Potter’ had been sorted a Slytherin.

Dinner was fantastic. Petunia fancied her self a good cook but her meals were nothing in comparison to the fair put on at Hogwarts. Dinner went by quickly, Harry acquainted himself with his Slytherin cohort. He, Draco and Blaise were joined by Theodore Nott, a tall lanky boy who sounded as if he had almost ended up in Ravenclaw, and Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle who Harry wasn’t really interested in at all. Theodore mentioned to him, under his breath, that they flanked Draco like bodyguards or brainless minions depending on your view of it.

Daphne was one of four girls in Slytherin this year. She joined Pansy Parkinson, a slightly aggressive pug-nosed girl, Tracey Davis, a very tall girl with a blonde bob, and Millicent Bullstrode, a heavier girl with the beginnings of teenage acne.

The Slytherin dorms were hidden down in the dungeons. The girls complained about the damp and cold, Harry thought it was brilliant. Of course a secret magic castle should have dungeons and a dormitory hidden amongst them. Their prefects ran through the rules, house unity, the reputation Slytherin house had amongst others and the boys then split from the girls when they went to their dorm rooms.

Because their year group had only four girls but six boys, there were two first year boys rooms. Three boys to a room instead of the usual five which Harry thought was great. Less competition for the shower in the morning was nothing to complain about in his book. The rooming arrangements had been made for them. He was sharing with Blaise and Theodore, Draco with Vince and Greg. Draco was less than impressed. While Theodore went ahead into the room and made himself at home, Draco went on a rant about sharing with Harry Potter and he was owling his father. Blaise stood back and watched with an amused smirk on his face, shooting Harry a funny look now and then. 

In the end, Harry and Blaise joined Theodore leaving the prefect to deal with an irate Draco Malfoy and the threat of his father. Harry happily ended up with the bed furthest the door, closest to the bathroom.

It wasn’t long before sleep made itself necessary.

\- - - 

In the morning, Harry was woken by someone shaking his shoulder. Blaise was in front of his saying something about Breakfast, timetables and first class. Harry wanted to continue sleeping but figured he best get on with it. Magic wasn’t going to learn itself.

Breakfast was an awkward affair. Draco spent it writing a six page letter to his father about his discontent with the current rooming arrangements. Vince and Greg ate, and ate a lot, never speaking and only grunting in agreement when Draco said something.

Harry had a full English breakfast and chatted a little in between mouthfuls with Daphne and Blaise. Pansy, when she had finally dragged herself from her bed, joined them and then spent the rest of breakfast sucking up to Draco. Harry couldn’t help but notice that he was at a distinct disadvantage, all the Slytherin’s seemed to know one another. He wasn’t sure if he should bring it up with one of his year mates or leave it be. Suddenly, his train of thought was interrupted by a sallow skinned, dark haired man dressed in robes of the darkest black. They looked like they’d be terribly difficult to keep clean but then Harry supposed that magic took care of little things like that.

“Good morning Professor Snape!” Someone further down the table called.

Professor Snape did not seem to think there was anything good about the morning. He handed Daphne the first year time tables to distribute, gave them a few words about behaving in all of their classes all stalked off. Not before giving Harry a look. It looked hard pained and half pissed off. Honestly, at the rate he was getting all these strange looks Harry was going to have to ask someone about it. What in god’s name was going on? I mean, on his way to Breakfast like four people had wanted to shake his hand, and at least seven had stopped him to introduce themselves. This wasn’t much of an issue except Harry had noticed that he was the only first year to receive such friendly treatment. When you factored that in to the weird reactions to his being sorted Slytherin, something was going on.

His timetable announced that his first two classes for the day were Transfiguration with McGonagall and the Ravenclaws followed by Potions with Snape and the Gryffindors. His year mates were not happy about taking “the best class at Hogwarts” with the Gryffindors. Harry was more concerned with being good enough. He’d read through the first few chapters of each of his text books over the summer. He’d summarised each chapter and made some notes but what if this was all basic knowledge for the witches and wizards who’d been raised around magic? Didn’t they have some sort of Introductory class for magical children who had grown up in the non-magical world or were they just expected to catch up in their own time?

Harry left with Daphne, Blaise and Theodore for Transfiguration. They were likely to be a bit early but at least they’d get the best of the seats in the classroom. when they arrived however it was to see that every single Ravenclaw student had arrived, and they had all taken every single seat in the front half of the classroom. Harry was not pleased. His vision wasn’t the best even with his glasses, he’d have to copy one of his fellow Slytherin’s notes about what was written on the chalkboard up front.

Before he could take a seat however, Theodore grabbed the back of his robes and pulled him into the seat beside him in the corner of the back row.

“We need to talk about a few things, Potter,” He whispered harshly. Harry furrowed his brow, he hoped it was to do with why everyone gave him weird looks and not something else for him to stress over.

“Potter, you do know why everyone wants to be your friend, right? I’d assumed at Breakfast you were just being polite and modest but now I’m not so sure,” Theodore was giving him that strange look. What was it with people giving him that look?!

“Err, isn’t everyone just nice and friendly at Hogwarts?” Harry flushed red as he said it. It even sounded ridiculous to his own ears.

“No, Potter. You’re famous, you know? I mean, you killed the Dark Lord when you were only a baby and he slaughtered your parents. It was during the war ten years ago,” Theodore spoke quietly, hoping not be overheard.

“What are you talking about? My parents died in a car crash. I think I’d know if they were done in by a homicidal maniac!” Harry hissed under his breath. Honestly, that must have him confused with another Harry Potter. It wasn’t like either his first or last name were ridiculously uncommon. Vernon had named Dudley after his very elderly father, so there were two Dudley Dursley’s roaming about Great Britain. A thought that was actually quite terrifying, really. 

Theodore frowned at him. Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the rest of the Slytherins, and Professor McGonagall herself. She apologised for being tardy herself, but apparently a first year Hufflepuff had thought it amusing to climb the hand rails of a moving staircase, had taken a fall and needed to be moved to the hospital wing. He was going to fine though apparently. What a way to start the school year, Harry thought.

Harry made it through his first class well enough. Turning a matchstick into a needle sounded simple. It was a little more difficult than he anticipated. By the end of the class he thought he’d finally managed to turn the matchstick into a needle, but when he picked it up to inspect it turned out the needle was still made of wood. He’d have to practice that spell before his next class. Harry was just thankful McGonagall hadn’t hadn’t out any homework apart from reading chapter two of their textbook, which he’d already done. Theodore had grabbed Draco and Blaise as they all left class for Potions and left Harry with Daphne and Pansy.

Potions class was… interesting. Professor Snape did not appear to like children, especially Gryffindor ones. He steadfastly ignored all of them, even Hermione Granger who never seemed to have her hand out of the air. Snape also ignored Harry, the only difference though was that when he ignored Harry he looked like he’d like to dismiss him from the classroom never to return. The other Slytherin’s kept sharing these knowing looks. Harry was seriously getting mad now. He was sick to death of all these looks, at him and seemly about him too. 

It all finally came to ahead during lunch. Instead of going to the great hall to eat Blaise grabbed him by the arm and dragged into the third floor bathrooms. Pansy screeched at the wailing ghost of an unfortunately looking girl with glasses to get out or she’d exorcise her. 

“So Potter, what is this crap Nott was saying about you not knowing who you are?” Blaise asked while the girls shared another bloody look. Harry got side tracked for a moment, wondering why everyone seemed to address one another by their last names.

And so began the most awkward conversation of Harry’s life to date. The more they all talked, the angrier Harry found himself getting. Why had Mcgonagall not told him everything? He’s told her about how Uncle Vernon had said they’d died. He’d been confused about how surviving an attack from an evil overlord made him famous until Pansy had grudgingly explained about the killing curse. So, Harry was the famous Boy-Who-Lived. He was a bit put off to be honest. All he’d done was not die, I mean statistically it was bound to happen eventually right? 

Feeling at a compete loss, Harry made his way to the last ten minutes of lunch break with his year mates. While they chatted about their flying lesson later in the week, Harry was busy thinking. 

Classes the rest of the day went well enough. Harry felt suitably prepared and didn’t appear to at any disadvantage. Daphne explained to him, during History of Magic, that it was just the done thing among the pureblood to refer to one another by their last name unless expressly told otherwise. Harry said he’d prefer his fellow Slytherin’s used his first name. 

\- - -

Flying Lessons were a polarising topic. Draco, Blaise and Tracey were excited for them, Theo (as he’d requested Harry call him) was not scared, simply uninterested, and Harry was unsure what to make of it. He’d almost died of laughter when Draco had explained witched and wizards did in fact fly on broomsticks. Harry wondered what other funny myths about witches and wizards might be true.

Harry was getting used to the looks, and the assumptions that the Famous Harry Potter should have been a Gryffindor. Theo had given him at least a dozen books that had information on He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, or You-Know-Who as he was also referred to, and his parents death. Harry actually really wanted to know what the Dark Lord’s real name was. It was no wonder the Slytherin’s called him the Dark Lord, it was certainly shorter than He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and not nearly so stupid sounding.

One day, earlier in the week, Harry had overheard Ronald Weasley and two other Gryffindor boys talking about him on their way to the Herbology greenhouses. 

“He’s supposed to be a hero, what’s he doing in Slytherin then?” Ronald all but huffed.

“I dunno, Ron, maybe when You-Know-Who tried to kill it messed up something inside him and he’s like morally rotting away…” One of the other boys replied.

“Gross visual Dean, just terrible. I’m surprised the Slytherin’s haven’t murdered him in his sleep though, I mean he did off their evil leader if you think about it” came from the third boy with an Irish accent.

Harry tried to block them out as he walked a few people behind them. He had heard that the Dark Lord had been a Slytherin, though nobody could prove it because no actually knew for sure who he was. Just because the Dark Lord may have been a Slytherin didn’t make Slytherin’s evil. It was ridiculous to Harry that next to no one outside of Slytherin itself could rationalise and come to the same conclusion. Even the staff seemed prejudiced, in Herbology Professor Sprout was always frowning when any of the Slytherins so much as laughed. Only Professor Snape seemed to favour the Slytherins, though that was because he was their Head of House.

It didn’t make sense to Harry that everyone seemed to think that his own housemates should want him dead. Just because the Dark may have been a Slytherin didn’t mean that all Slytherin’s shared the same ideals as him, right? He felt like he couldn't catch a breath, it just seemed to be one thing after another. He was eleven years old, all he wanted to do was learn about magic and make friends. He shouldn’t have to be worrying about dark lords, house prejudices and secret keeping!

\- - - 

Thursday night, the night before his flying sessions, Harry was sitting in the common room surrounded by Slytherins of all ages.

“We can’t cut it too short, Lorella. It would be in his best interests to keep that curse scar covered,” Brigit Travers, the fifth year girl’s prefect, said.

“Yes, but I just can’t handle it how it is at the moment. It’s practically an overgrown long fringed mullet, Brigit, I won’t have it!” Lorella barked back at her.

Everyone was crowded around Harry, currently sitting on yet another stool, while three older Slytherin girls argued about how to cut his hair.

“Look, why don’t we cut it to a medium length and not bother about hiding the scar? Everyone knows he has it,” the Scandinavian born Ingrid Karlsson. 

“Because the less attention he attracts out in the wider magical community the better!” Brigit snapped.

“Excuse me! Look, I like it longer but not as long as it is now. Just keep it long enough to hide the scar and maybe shorten it enough so it doesn’t fall into my glasses,” Harry interrupted their squabbling.

Not one of the three girls looked happy. Harry honestly didn’t think a hair cut should be so difficult. He though about asking them how he could get his glasses prescription adjusted magically but he wasn’t sure he could endure any more time spent being fussed over. Thankfully, once they knew what to do with his hair it only took a minute for magic to take care of the rest.

Haircut over and done with, everyone dispersed. He really didn’t look any different afterwards, so it wasn’t half as interesting as they had all hoped it would be. 

“Well, that was anticlimactic,” Draco sighed. He gave Harry the once over and said, “We couldn’t convince you to give up the glasses could, we?”

“What exactly would that entail?” Daphne asked.

“Well, from what I understand there’s a potion that you brew to restore eyesight. There are two versions, one that you have to take every month and another, permanent one, but the ingredients are… let’s just say there hard to come by” Draco trailed off.

“You mean not-so-legal” Blaise piped in.

“Would you judge me if I said the non-so-legal option sounds better to me? I’ve heard most potions taste atrocious so I don’t like the idea of taking one monthly. That and monthly means spending money every month on ingredients” Harry figured life would easier without glasses. He’d seen other wizards wearing them but Pansy said most of them had perfectly good eye sight and either used them for reading or simply to look smarter. He also hoped that maybe less people would recognise him as the ‘famous’ Harry Potter without them.

“So, how do we get these not so common ingredients?” Blaise queried.

“Well, the potion was in a book back at the Manor. So, if you really want to do it I’m going to need to owl father for the book and some of the ingredients” Draco was looking forward to adding, in his letter, how despite not sharing a room with Potter he was well on the way to a solid friendship with the boy. Mother would probably gloat that it was all her doing, Draco thought. 

Harry was a bit unsure about Draco writing to his dad about a not-so-legal potion and its not-so-legal ingredients. Wouldn’t he tell on them to the school staff? On the other hand, everyone was excited, and planning details like where and when they would brew to potion and who was going to chip in with what ingredients. Harry really didn’t want to spoil the fun. He guessed he’d just have to hope Draco, and everyone else, knew what they were doing.

Harry found himself voicing his concerns later that night in his room with Theo and Blaise. Theo and Blaise explained the difference between Light magic, Grey or Neutral magic and Dark magic and the differences between the wizards who chose to associate with one main sort of magic. As it turned out, the eyesight restoring potion Draco was speaking about was most likely a Grey magic sort of potion. However, Grey magic was often too ‘Dark’ for Light wizards to consider morally acceptable. Harry wanted to know how a potion that restored eyesight could be a Grey one. Blaise postulated that it was most likely the ingredients used in it. Some potions ingredients were only used in Dark magic and often only able to be purchased on some sort of underground potions market.

Magical society was complicated. Harry was having enough trouble wrapping his mind around Light, Grey and Dark magics. Blaise and Theo joked that Harry was unlikely to ever enter the political arena then.

\- - -

Harry still wasn’t sold on the idea of flying through the air on a broomstick when he headed to the quidditch pitch Friday afternoon with his fellow Slytherins. He trudged along with Pansy and Millicent, ahead of them Tracey, Draco and Blaise were practically bouncing on the balls of their feet. 

“I honestly don’t understand what’s so exciting. I mean, the only good thing about the sport is that it earns us House points. Personally though, I don’t think we should be relying on points from quidditch to win us the House cup,” Millicent said.

“Well, if the other teachers didn’t dislike us, and the other houses put us in situations where we lose house points then maybe we wouldn’t have to rely on quidditch,” Pansy grumbled.

“What do you mean, I don’t think the teachers dislike us,” Harry wasn’t sure Pansy was reading the situation correctly.

“Please Harry, you won’t have noticed because you’re famous, and often to distracted overthinking whatever it is that goes on in that head of yours… but Slytherins aren’t well liked at all. Haven’t you noticed how McGonagall is always calling on the Ravenclaws like Patil and Corner over us? It’s hard for us to earn points in her class if she never calls on us to answer questions.”

Harry supposed Pansy had a point about his always being distracted by his own thoughts. It was just that he hadn’t had the privilege of growing up amongst magic and everything. He had thought it would be simple. That he would go to magic school, and learn magic. end of story. It was far more complicated than that. Magical people had a society all their own, that had their own culture, their own social rules and expectations. They had their own prejudices, their own government, their own way of life. He felt like a fish out of water, trying to breathe.

“You’re doing it again, getting lost in your own thoughts,” Millicent’s comment grabbed his attention.

“Sorry, it’s just a lot to take in Millicent. I’m still trying to figure everything out.”

“We know, but it might be easier if you talked about what was going on in that famous head of yours rather than blinking off into space. People are going to worry that we’ve Imperio’d you,” Pansy snorted.

Their conversation was halted by the arrival of the Gryffindors. You could hear them coming down to the pitch. They all looked excited to learn how to fly. Well, all of them except for Granger, who had about three booked in her arms, and a boy he’d heard called Longbottom, who looked like he wanted to vomit. 

At least he, Pansy and Millicent wouldn’t be the only ones unlikely to enjoy themselves. Theo and Daphne both already knew how to fly, they just didn’t think it was a worthwhile pursuit. Draco and Blaise spoke it quidditch was it was the sport of the gods.

Madam Hooch was a strict woman with hawk eyes and windswept hair. she had them all line up next to a broom. She gave them the standard safety speech and then had them put their left hand over their respective broomsticks and call them up. Harry wasn’t convinced instructed ‘up’ to an inanimate object was going to do much until he watched Blaise’s broom jump straight into his outstretched hand. 

Looking down at his own, Harry said “Up.”

His broom jumped to his hand. Ok, so not as difficult as Harry had made it out to be. Or maybe is was, looking around he saw that half the class had still to get their brooms into their own hands. It took about ten minutes just to get the class holding their broom. Now came hovering. This didn’t sound so bad to Harry. Everything had been going well until Ronald Weasley went speeding off on his broomstick, yelling how he already knew how to fly thank you very much. 

Which was all well and good until he was distracted by Madam Hooch’s shouting and fell about 20 feet to the ground. Draco and Blaise were laughing so hard that they were practically holding each other up. Pansy, Daphne and Theo were sniggering quietly. Harry just thought that a class of twenty students learning to fly should probably have been supervised by another teacher or two. Weasley was taken to the hospital wing by Madam Hooch and the class was rescheduled for the following Friday. 

“Well, that was disappointing,” Tracey chuckled.

“Do you mean class being cut short or Weasley not doing himself greater damage?” Draco laughed. 

\- - - 

Narcissa Malfoy was a patient woman but almost a week of having her son out of her sight, without so much as a letter, was too much. There was no way, in any universe, Lucius would have been able to sell the idea of Durmstrang to her.

The final straw was Friday afternoon when she traipsed into her husband’s grand study to find him penning a reply owl to Draco.

“You mean he’s already written? What did he have to say? How is he? Where’s MY letter?” Narcissa was not impressed.

“It’s only been a week, give the boy time to get homesick,” Lucius muttered, he was trying to write this letter in a way that wouldn’t lead to a long whinging letter from his spoilt son.

“Honestly, it’s universally unfair that women do all the childrearing and yet their sons love their fathers more!” 

“Well, it’s not my fault,” Lucius stopped writing, “Just send him a letter yourself. Make it ominous and fear-inducing. I’m sure he’ll write you fortnightly from then on.”

“Fine, I will… Lucius… are you as concerned as I am about the Potter boy in Slytherin. I know it was unexpected and everyone is still processing it but you said yourself that you doubt the Dark Lord to be truly dead. That others are whispering about a great and terrible return”

“There are a lot of ‘What If’s’ Narcissa. I just don’t know.”

“We’re Malfoy’s!!! We don’t leave things at ‘what if’” Narcissa huffed, “We need a plan. We need multiple plans actually, in case we get thrown some unexpected circumstances along the way.”

“I’m looking into a few things. I agree we need to have plans in place but there are just too many unknown variables. The whisperings are just that at the moment.. whisperings. I can’t make plans if I don’t know what I’m planning for.”

“Let’s hope we have the time to be suitably prepared then.”


	3. Character Interlude: Severus Snape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief look into the thoughts of one Severus Snape as Harry Potter joins Hogwarts and ultimately Slytherin House.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought little character interludes would be a fun thing to do. It also gives me something to do when I'm stuck writing other chapters. Let me know if you like the idea or if you have any character interlude suggestions.

Interlude 01

Professor Snape was not pleased. Not at all. When he had been reminded by Minerva that Harry Potter would be joining them come September 1st his mood, rarely pleasant to begin with, had taken a steep dive. 

The last thing Severus needed, on top of caring for his snakes, was to have to keep both eyes open for whatever mischief Harry Potter would get up to with a gang of overzealous Gryffindors. He’d probably gallop through the school on a unicorn slaying Slytherins left, right and centre.

Being a professor was not easy, and it was not always as rewarding as Minerva made it out to be. Some days no amount of sleep seemed enough to help him get through the day. He dealt with Slytherin drama at breakfast, he had morning classes full of dunderheads and featherbrains, lunch break was spent eating while getting marking done, afternoon classes were full of whiney snot nosed brats and vain immature giggling little twats, dinner was spent avoiding speaking to the other teaching staff, and his evenings, when not spent marking assignments, were the only time he had any peace and quiet. But that was only if he wasn’t dragged from his personal quarters by other staff members or Slytherin students to assist with ‘emergencies’.

Basically, teaching for him would be a lot more pleasant if he could simply leave instructions on the board for the class and then sit back down at his desk to read a book while generally ignoring the fact that his room was full of children.

How had he ever thought to thank Albus for keeping him out of Azkaban? It couldn’t be any worse than this. Two or three years in and you lost your mind, so you couldn’t care that you were imprisoned on an Island surrounded by Dementors. Hogwarts was no different except there were no dementors to drive him insane and kill any awareness he had of his own misery.

Potter. When the first year student had traipsed in, he had heaved a sigh of relief. No miniature James Potter was anywhere in the line. Maybe the boy had accepted a place at another magical school, it was uncommon but not unheard of for British magical children to study overseas.

Then his name was called. The short, skinny child that sat himself on the stool and had the sorting hat placed on his head did not overly resemble his father. His hair was messy but the length of it made it that bit less wild. He was similarly bespectacled but his were a more modest pair of frames than the goblin wrought platinum his father had favoured. His nose wasn’t as long, his skin paler, his features altogether softer though that could simply be his age. 

He had not, not ever, expected the child to end up in his house. It was outrageous. His parents had been Gryffindors! James Potter’s parents had been Gryffindors! Potters! Were Gryffindors! How.did.this.happen. How.could.this.happen.to.him…

It wasn’t until the child sat down and looked back at the sorting of his year mates that Severus noticed he had Lily’s eyes. Those deep green eyes. It was unfair that he had to have the boy in house; it was unfair that he would have to monitor the child. It was unfathomable that he had Lily’s eyes. 

Minerva was just as shocked as he was to find the Potter boy sorted to Slytherin.

“Well, Severus, that was certainly an unexpected turn of events, now wasn’t it? I was sure Harry would wind up in my house as his parent’s had been but there is never an ironclad guarantee of it.”

Severus couldn’t remember if he had verbally replied or simply glared at her.

\- - - 

Despite the many concerns Minerva had voiced to him, at length and near constantly, his Slytherin charges did not kill Potter in his sleep. Though he had the odd dream that they had in fact done so. Instead they seemed to have united in their agreement that they take the boy under their wing and teach him how to be a Slytherin but like all good Slytherins they also probably also hoped like hell it would pay off fifteen to twenty years into the future.

He did have one niggling concern remaining, however. Potter’s friendship with his godson posed a few issues. Could Lucius be trusted around Potter? Could he be trusted not to use his son’s friendship with the boy for his own gain?

There were so many questions unanswered. Why did Albus leave the boy with muggle relatives? Surely, a wizarding family with one parent an Auror or the like might have been a better fit. 

Severus did not get many answers. Instead he chose to pretend the Potter child was invisible. It made his life that bit easier. He'd deal with any real issues regarding the boy if they came up he wasn’t going out of his way to find them.

\- - - 

Minerva, the wench, had raised ‘concerns’ with Albus. She didn’t think he could be impartial and put aside past prejudices. He hadn’t even talked to the boy except to mark him present at his classes.

“Severus my boy,” Albus started, “I do hope you’re treating Harry fairly. It’s not his fault he’s a celebrity. I did my best to shield him from a life in the spotlight, you know.”

“I haven’t a single problem with Potter. Minerva has this silly notion that I’m pretending he doesn’t exist so I don’t have to deal with the emotions he evokes from my past with his father, or some other rot. I don’t have a problem with him. He’s quiet, well mannered and doesn’t blow things up when he’s brewing.” Severus was going to have words with Minerva at breakfast tomorrow, she could be sure of that.

“I just wanted to check and see how you were handling having him in your house, no one has reported any problem to me regarding his treatment in Slytherin.” 

Severus was insulted that Albus seemed to think his snakes would do an eleven year old harm. Well, they might, but not to a world famous Dark Lord killing celebrity that everybody would miss. Who, in the future, could be an invaluable asset to them.

“Albus, the Slytherins have welcomed him. I admit, they took a day or so to get over the shock of his sorting. We all did really, but my charges are children not Death Eaters. He’ll be fine with them.”

“On that note, there is one little thing that’s bothering me…” Albus trailed off. Severus knew this was a sign that he was about to meddle. It would no doubt make things difficult for Severus.

“What is it then? Are you worried Potter won’t learn how to battle ogres and slay dragons?” Severus sneered.

“I think you may need to exert some influence over his choice of friends. Zabini isn’t a bad choice, his family are incredibly Neutral for Slytherins,” Severus didn’t have the heart to tell Albus that it was because they tended to be self-obsessed and self-serving, “But I worry about his being friends with Malfoy, Nott, Parkinson and Greengrass. All Dark families who supported Tom’s cause.”

Lucius had escaped prison claiming that the Dark Lord himself had cast the Imperius curse upon him in order to utilise his consider power and fortune to his own nefarious advantage. Nott had never been caught, and had never been seen doing anything during the war, but his affiliation with Lucius and the Lestrange’s had seen him questioned many a time. He had managed to avoid detection, though Albus was not fooled. Patrick Parkinson had always been supportive in the shadows, but had joined late enough in the game that he had never had a dark mark and therefore the Auror’s had no basis to even question him. Reginald Greengrass did not get his hands dirty; he preferred to throw money at things. So he had thrown large sums of galleon at the Dark Lord so as to buy himself the honour of not having to go into battle. All four were free and happy as kneazles with a ball of yarn. This did not, and would never, sit well with Albus Dumbledore.

Severus was of the opinion that children were children, and innocent of the crimes of their parents. He was always surprised by how Albus didn’t share this ideal, for being such a Light wizard.

“There isn’t anything you or I can do without it looking blatantly obvious to Malfoy, Nott, Parkinson and Greengrass’s parents. It would be best, I think, to leave it alone at the current moment… but I will monitor the situation closely for you, Albus” Severus conceded. It was best to always make sure the that last thing you said to Albus was what he wanted to hear. Then you could leave and go about your business however you saw fit.

It wasn’t like the Potter boy would come into contact with his friends parents any time soon.

\- - - 

It was not uncommon for Fester, the Malfoy family eagle owl to deliver letters to Severus in his private quarters.

It was odd for these letters to speak to him about Draco, however.

Severus, 

I’ll simply get to the point this evening and ask you if had noticed my son owling me after a rather… inappropriate potions text.

I highly doubt this sort of potions book would feature on the Hogwarts curriculum. Not even for seventh year NEWT studies.

Please do have words with my son. He should know better than to get up to anything… potentially incriminating. Especially under the watchful eye of Albus Dumbledore.

Best Regards, 

Lucius

 

The damned letter did not tell him enough. What was his foolish godson trying to brew? Of all the stupid things to do, brewing a suspect potion at Hogwarts was right up there with selling XXXX magical creatures.

This was about Potter, Severus knew it.


End file.
